


Spellhold

by Adara_Rose



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Angst, Despair, Desperation, F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Jealousy, M/M, Other, Sibling Rivalry, Suicidal Thoughts, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 04:28:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1496671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adara_Rose/pseuds/Adara_Rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It never rains in Athkatla... except when the Hero of Amn, the night before his sister's wedding, howls his anguish to the uncaring skies... can be read in conjunction with "Late Night Musings"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spellhold

**Author's Note:**

> This is after the game, the PC is a chaotic good half-elf paladin/mage I named Curys, and he looks like Keldorn in that exotic features mod where Aerie is a black woman and Jaheira a gorgeous Native American, I don't remember who did it. Party consists of him, Minsc, Imoen, Kelsey, and Solaufein (I picked him up shortly after getting Aerie pregnant, giving her the boot. Babies have NO business on an adventure like this…that and her whining made me want to string her up for the crows). (I modded the game to pieces, can you tell?)

It was over. The world was saved, Bhaal was gone, he had his soul back, and he had saved his sister and everyone else he had met along the way. His name was sung all over Athkatla. And yet, he was not happy. They saw all his victories, but he himself could only see where he had failed.

The first failure, and his greatest one, was breaking Aerie's heart. There was no other way to look at it. She had thought he had loved her, and in his own way he had – but not enough. Not enough to put her first, not enough to see her as his one and only. Not enough to be ready to marry her when she came to him and told him she was pregnant. Instead he had turned from her, and uttered the only words he knew; "I'm sorry."

Such useless words. Worthless, filthy words. Uttered to make the speaker feel better, but of no aid whatsoever to the one hearing them. To  _hell_  with sorry. Sorry I used you. Sorry I took your innocence and sullied it with my greedy hands and my cold eyes. Sorry I don't love you. Sorry you're too small, too innocent, too blonde, and too _female_. He hadn't said that of course; only that short phrase – "I'm sorry" – and he had stood there, like a fool, while she wept.

And he had wanted her to leave, and she had. He did not know where she was. Did not think he would ever see her again, would never see his son. He couldn't find it in him to care. It wasn't the loss of his son that had him standing out here, in the rain, hoping the thunder would cover the fact that he was sobbing so hard it felt as if his heart was trying to claw its way out of his chest.

It hadn't even hurt like this when he saw his father's brutal murder. He had cried then, the tears of a confused, devastated child. Later on, there had been so many adventures – tragedies – he had forgotten some of them. Had forgotten the tears he had wept over them. But he remembered how he had screamed when tied to the rack in Irenicus' dungeon, and how that pain was nothing to the one he was feeling now.

He had even died, once, and his – he wasn't sure it was a soul, but that was as close as he got – his soul had been dragged into hell. He had dragged his companions down with him. The shame of that, he suspected, would haunt him forever. But the pain as his body died, as his … soul screamed in horror, was a mere whisper to the animal clawing, tearing, and ripping at his heart.

It was madness, he knew that, but the knowledge gave no comfort. He was trapped in a hell of his own making, or maybe it was the making of his treacherous heart. When he lost his father he had sworn he would never let another being into his heart again. And he had kept that promise… until blue eyes had gazed his way, and red curls had danced around the face of a handsome young wizard on a busy city street. He hadn't even known it at the time, but at that moment his heart had left him, never to return. In its place in his chest, pain ruled.

He remembered the first time Blue Eyes died in his arms; it had felt as if he was dying, too. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, and didn't hear anything but the labored breathing and the gurgle of blood filling the wizard's throat. Then he had turned into the Slayer and torn Firkraag to pieces with his bare hands, screaming like a wounded animal all the while. It had taken Imoen hours to calm him down and coax him out of his room at the inn they had rested in. But that hadn't hurt as much as it hurt at this moment, in the rain, on the ceiling of Anomen's house in the government district of Akathla.

Anomen – or rather, Sir Anomen - had been very kind and let them all stay at his house while they prepared to go their separate ways, since their adventures were over. Minsc was going home to Rasheman, Aerie had left long ago, and Solaufein was speaking almost longingly of all the places he had left to see. He wanted to go to Trademeet, perhaps following a caravan to the deep north and see the snow. And Imoen… Imoen was leaving. With Kelsey. They were getting married. That was why they were still in the city; Imoen had her heart set on the Temple of Lathander, and Kelsey had proven unable to refuse her. And he, Curys, the hero of Amn, had promised to give his little sister away.

And he wondered, as what he thought was his heart shattering in his chest, how he was supposed to stand in the temple and glow with pride and happiness at his sister marrying the one who had stolen away everything he had. He wondered if Aerie knew this was why he couldn't love her. He hoped she did, and dreaded that she did. If she did, then maybe she understood. But if she knew, maybe she despised him for being… like this.

Some hero he was, crying like a child in the rain, fearing someone would hear his sobs as he screamed his anguish at uncaring skies. And tomorrow, he would stand there and smile as his beloved married his sister.

And then he would get drunk at the reception. And when he was good and drunk, he was going to take Solaufein up on the offer shining in dark eyes; maybe it would make him forget for a moment. And if he kept his eyes closed, and thought of pale skin and red hair, if the name he moaned was another than the one belonging to the body moving beneath his… then hopefully, Solaufein would understand.

But tonight, he wept. He screamed, and he begged the Gods to take away this anguish clawing at his being, ripping him apart. But they didn't hear him; and if they did, they did not care to answer. He was trapped in a hell of his own making.

He was imprisoned like a madman, captured like an animal, locked in a cage that would never set him free. Held hostage, by a pair of blue eyes that had no idea of the power they wielded. And he would never be released.

He was in Spellhold, the prison of mages. And he was serving a life sentence.


End file.
